


Queen Bitch

by stackcats



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderbending, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 02:16:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2049570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stackcats/pseuds/stackcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a universe out there where Malcolm and Jamie are Mel and Jaimee, and Mel is the reigning Queen Bitch of Westminster. </p>
<p>Malcolm/Jamie genderswap. Basically just porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queen Bitch

"There you are, you mad old bitch."

Jaimee’s timing is perfect. Always has been. Just as Mel is seriously contemplating hitting up a couple of contacts and going on a weekend-long heroine binge, in walks the next best thing. Better, even. Jaimee’s always been the best kind of narcotic, to her.

“Get over here, you wee skank.”

Jaimee grins. She’s wearing that dress, the one Mel bought her, just this side of office-appropriate, tight and figure-hugging black and white. Men never notice, but Mel does - if she was wearing anything underneath that dress, there would be a very obvious pantyline. Never is. She’s also wearing a fucking push-up bra, and she’s done the thing where she tugs down the front of the dress before entering Mel’s office, the little harlot. Mel licks her lips, gaze fixed on the curves of creamy-white cleavage, as Jaimee smirks, hitches up her skirt, and straddles Mel’s lap.

Mel closes her eyes for a moment as Jaimee’s fingers stroke through her short, greying hair, giving her a little scalp-massage. She runs her hands down Jaimee’s back, can fucking feel herself getting wet just from the heat of her, and moans aloud when Jaimee starts rocking against her thigh, fingers kneeding her own small breasts softly, a thumb finding a nipple through the soft fabric of blouse and bra…

"Mine," Jaimee whispers, kissing Mel just beneath her jaw.

"Daft cow," Mel scolds, but it’s true. She’ll never say it aloud, but it’s true.

Jaimee moans low and deep and sultry as Mel kisses her. She's so noisy, and Mel can't pretend she doesn't love it, knowing that it's her making Jaimee whine like a whore. A classy whore, mind you, not a cheap one - Mel knows the difference, and she knows what men would give - have given - to get into Jaimee's knickers. One way or another, they all pay.

Only Mel gets anything for free.

She hitches up Jaimee's skirt, strokes her buttocks, tickles the small of her back and drags her fingers down to her coccyx. Jaimee lifts her hips, and Mel explores deeper, finds slick wetness. Her other hand slides up Jaimee's thigh until she can tease the little patch of dark hair. Jaimee bites her lip in retaliation, and Mel laughs.

"Impatient." She gives Jaimee a sharp smack on the rear, and follows it up with two fingers sliding either side of her clit, gives it a little tug. Jaimee yelps, falls forward, buries her face against Mel's neck and spreads her legs as much as she can in the tight space.

Mel's fingers slip easily into her, just two, up to the knuckle. There are times when Jaimee wants to be fucked, but here in the office, Mel has perfected precision fingering. Jaimee's one big G-spot, a whole person worth of tingling nerve-ends, but Mel knows exactly how to touch her, how to break her into pieces. Her fingers move quickly, her palm cupped and firm for Jaimee to rock against, and it's not long at all before Jaimee is shuddering and gasping and clenching around Mel's fingers, back arched as her hips buck, dark curls clinging to one side of her face.

She slumps forward, nuzzles Mel's neck, catching her breath as the aftershocks fade. If Mel carries on working her fingers, she can make Jaimee come again within minutes, and then again and... But there isn't time right now. She waits until Jaimee's stopped fluttering, then licks her fingers clean.

"I'm gonna smell like your cunt for the rest of the day."

"Good."

Jamie flicks open the first few buttons of Mel's blouse, kisses her throat, her collar bone, slides a hand in to squeeze one breast, then looks up.

"New bra."

"Yep."

She frowns. "He gave it to you?"

"Aye. He wants to give marriage one more go."

Jaimee's response to that is to bite the inner curve of Mel's breast with her sharp little teeth, and pull a hole in the lacy fabric.

"Oops," she sneers.

"Don't be a bitch. I need him focussed right now, remember? After the vote, I'm finished with him."

"You're a cruel woman."

"I'm not the one fucking sitting there doing nothing. Do I need to draw you a diagram?"

"No, you are the absolute queen fucking bitch," Jaimee snaps, but there's a smirk of admiration tugging at the corner of her lip and she flicks open the button of Mel's trousers.

She slips down onto her knees, and Mel lifts her hips for Jaimee to tug her trousers and knickers down just far enough. Jaimee inhales deeply as she moves in, begins licking and gently sucking at Mel's clit, her tongue smooth and soft, then pointed and firm. Mel tangles her fingers in Jaimee's curls. She never makes much noise herself, but she can show her appreciation in other ways. Jaimee looks up at her with those big, blue eyes, and Mel scratches the back of her neck fondly.

Jaimee ducks her head a little, runs her tongue flat and soft between Mel's folds, lapping very gently, but she quickly returns her attention to Mel's swollen clit. She finds a fast, rhythmic swirling motion, and keeps it going, skilled and steady but buzzing with hunger, and Mel is reminded just how fucking well Jaimee knows her. They don't even have to communicate any more, not with words, anyway.

Orgasm is a cascading, shivering relief, warmth spreading up through her belly and down through her thighs to her toes. Mel grabs at Jaimee's hair with one hand, holding her there, and the other clenches around the arm of the chair, and Jaimee caries right on licking her until she's still.

With it comes clarity, practicality. There's still a lot to get done today, she's got a whole to-do list of sharp objects to stick into Hugh Abbott's neck, and the PM wants to see her for dinner which means manipulating photographers into the right place at the right time to catch a defining shot of Mel as Tom's friend and trusted confidante, there's a twenty-two page document of word-vomit from Juliet to respond to with harshly mocking emails and maybe a couple of rude drawings...

Jaimee carefully pulls Mel's clothing back together for her. She presses a kiss to the tear and the flourishing bruise on Mel's breast, another on her throat, another on her lips.

"Time for work," Mel says.

"Always is, eh? Can I come to your place tonight?"

Mel shakes her head, strokes Jaimee's hair. "Not tonight, darling."

"Hmph. Think of me when he's blindly ramming his diminutive fucking meat-spear into you, then."

"Always do, darling," Mel murmurs, kissing the corner of Jaimee's mouth. "Always do."


End file.
